


Acceptance

by TheGeekyLibrarian



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGeekyLibrarian/pseuds/TheGeekyLibrarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where Joanna survives the birth of Tyrion, and is confronted with the realities of having given birth to a crippled child. </p>
<p>Written for a prompt on the asoiafkinkmeme</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptance

Joanna considers her husband as she watches his silhouette against the window. She knows what’s coming, and she knows how persuasive her husband can be when he chooses. She knows what he’s going to say, that the child, her son, is unlikely to live to adulthood, and even if he does he will always struggle with his deformities. Her husband will say that, perhaps, death would be a relief…

 

A month or two earlier, and she might have agreed with him. Ever since before her marriage she admired her husband for his standards, and what he was willing to do, and make others do, to live up to them. She stood beside him, and helped him bring House Lannister back to its proper place among the Great Houses in any way she could, and so, when their twins were born a few years later, it had felt like a true victory. She had felt invincible in the years after, had been so sure that no one could touch her, or her family. That her third child would, or even could be a cripple, had never entered her mind.

She wondered silently if this was how the gods had decided to punish her for that arrogance.

“Joanna.”

Her husband turned towards her, and walked to her bedside, sitting carefully on the edge beside her.

“Don’t say it…please.”

Her eyes travel from her husband to the crib at the foot of the bed, where her youngest son is sleeping peacefully, and although she promised herself that she would not cry as soon as she understood what request her husband would make of her, she now struggles to blink away the tears.

Her husband reaches for her hand, carefully enveloping it with his own, but doesn’t speak.

 

 

The birth had been a hell worse than she thought she could ever live through. She remembered the worried look in the maester’s eyes as the hours went by and the pain worsened. Her memory becomes hazy towards the end, but she remembers seeing all the blood and thinking that this is surely more than she could lose and still live. She had slipped away into unconsciousness afterwards, and she cannot recall hearing the first cries of her son. The next thing she remembers is the sound of her husbands voice, when she awoke a day or so later.

She squeezed his hand when remembering how frantic he had sounded then. Worried…frightened even, in a way she had never heard before.

 

“It would be a mercy, Joanna…”

 

She had wasted no time asking for her child. Even through the haze of sleep and blood loss, she remembered how their faces fell when she uttered the words, but she had insisted, and no one in Casterly Rock dared defy the insistence of their lady.

Her first reaction when the babe was placed in her arms, she was ashamed to admit, was repulsion. Her first thought was that this could not be her child, that it was some sort of changeling… he was misshapen, his limbs stunted and twisted, and each eye were a different color. He had no apparent features from either of his parents…he couldn’t be her child.

In a fit of despair she had squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her lip, trying to fight the urge to scream. It felt as if her insides were tearing themselves apart, one part willing her to throw the child down, denounce it and live with the shame of having brought such a creature into the world, while the other forced her to keep her hold, reminding her again and again:

This is your child.

This is your son.

In the end, the outcome of the battle was decided for her, by a tiny hand grabbing a hold of one of her fingers. The grip was so strong that she opened her eyes in wonder, and looked down on the babe in her arms. The hand that held hers was warm, soft and pink, and each finger had a perfectly shaped little fingernail. The touch felt oddly comforting, and she realized it was not something to fear. With that realization Joanna gained the courage to look at her son again.

Her eyes travelled slowly from the thick mop of golden curls on his head, to his mismatched eyes, one being as black as night, while the other, she now saw, was the same bright green as her own. She smiled at that, and gently stroked his tiny fingers with her thumb. The babe made a noise in response, wiggling his arms and legs inside the blankets, and she felt her smile widen.

This is your son; the voice inside her repeated, and this time Joanna knew it was true.

Seeing her smile, the maester carefully approached, and gently began explaining what her son was, and was not. His limbs would pain him as he grew, the maester said. There was little to be done about that… and the boy was unlikely to ever grow as tall and handsome as his brother and father, but apart from a crippled body, the boy seemed healthy, and there was nothing wrong with his head. The babe was as alert and responsive as any.

 

 

“Joanna…”

She was ripped from her thoughts once again by her husband’s voice.

“No.” Her own voice was strong, determined.

“He will never be normal, Joanna, no matter how much you wish it –“

“I said no!”

The force in her voice surprises him, but not half as much as the slap that follows her last exclamation. He remains seated beside her, but his mouth opens and closes in shock, and for once Tywin Lannister is speechless.

“That boy is my son, Tywin, and if you’re so determined to put him out for the wolves you can throw me out to them as well! Disown us both if you will, but if you harm a hair on his head, I swear to all the Seven that I will tear your heart from your chest with my bare hands!”

Her husband remains silent for a long while, watching her intently. Then, the ghost of something she cannot quite place… acceptance perhaps, or even relief, crosses his face, and the corners of his mouth pull into a soft smile that she knows is reserved for her.

“As My Lady commands.”

He reaches out and traces a hand across her cheek.

“No harm will come to our son. You have my word.”


End file.
